


All Seem to Say, Throw Cares Away

by DamselInDeduction



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sherlolly Christmas, Sherlolly Secret Santa 2018, helpful bartender, sherlolly kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 02:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17235359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamselInDeduction/pseuds/DamselInDeduction
Summary: It might have been a lonely Christmas Eve for Molly Hooper until an admirer sends her a drink.





	All Seem to Say, Throw Cares Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cumbercougars](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cumbercougars).



> Merry Christmas, and happy Sherlolly Secret Santa to cumbercougars! 
> 
> Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy it!

_Hark how the bells,_  
_Sweet silver bells,_  
_All seem to say,_  
_Throw cares away._

 

The bar was more crowded than she’d expected, but everyone seemed to be in the holiday spirit. Maybe they were like her, out trying to forget that they had nowhere else to be on Christmas. Alcohol was good for that sort of forgetting, so as soon as Molly had finished her very festive “Mistletoe Martini,” she headed right back to the bar for a second.

Christmas music was playing, some of the more contemporary stuff, and Molly found herself swaying right along, humming under her breath a bit as she waited to catch the bartender’s eye. She was nowhere near tipsy, but Molly felt good. More than that, she felt beautiful tonight. She was dressed up in the bright blue satin party dress she couldn’t walk away from at her favorite little secondhand shop. 

Tonight, surrounded by strangers, she felt free to dress-up without fear of being mocked or embarrassed. For a moment, a pang of loneliness struck. She missed Sherlock, missed so much about him. But after that heart-wrenching phone call, he never came to explain himself. John had to give her all of the details of that horrible day and the Holmes sister.

She hadn’t seen Sherlock since.

She sighed. Molly Hooper was nothing if not practical. Whether he loved her or not, he didn’t want to be with her. His reasons were his own, and it was time she learned to move on. She would need time and distance from the man, if she ever wanted her heart back. Molly would never love anyone the way she loved Sherlock Holmes, but she was tired of feeling so shattered by that love.

She was pulled from her maudlin thoughts by the martini glass placed in front of her. 

“A gentleman asked to buy your next drink, sent this note over as well.” The bartender smiled at her, before leaning closer toward her. “If it is unwanted, the drink or the note, you let me know.”

Molly’s eyes widened in confusion, but she slid the folded bit of paper toward herself. It was just a torn bit of paper, out of a small pocket notebook. She opened it up to see scrawled, but legible handwriting, one she’d certainly seen before.

_Blue suits you._  
_You are lovely._  
_Merry Christmas._

She clutched the note in her hand, while looking around the bar for Sherlock. It was absolutely his handwriting, she’d know it anywhere. Clutching the note, she looked around frantically. She caught eyes with the bartender, who motioned to a shadowy corner of the bar. 

Moving as quickly as she could through the still-crowded bar, slipping past revelers, she scanned desperately for some glimpse of the man. But she wasn’t completely surprised to come upon an empty table.

She was surprised, however, to see the table a mess, covered in crumpled up notes.

With her eyes never leaving the table, she settled herself into the chair. She began to open each scrapped piece of paper carefully.

_God, I’ve missed you._

_You deserve so much more_

_You look like an angel_

_I meant it_

_I still love you, ~~do you,~~ could you still—-_

With tears in her eyes, she carefully straightened the notes as best she could, collecting the pile of them. She wished she could collect her thoughts so easily. 

Sherlock had been here, watched her, written her notes, debated over sending them. A genius in almost all things, but his own emotions a mystery. But he’d reached out, he was trying. 

Molly was glad for the darkened corner when she realized she had been crying. Her face was a mess and her hands were shaking, but her heart felt light. She continued to scan the room, even as she realized he was probably gone. She dried her tears as best she could with her fingers, and attempted to steady her breathing. But she couldn’t keep the smile off of her face. 

He missed her, he loved her, he meant it!

With a new sense of determination, Molly carefully placed her paper keepsakes into her clutch, her original note at the top. There was no more wondering about the path she needed to take. 

She retrieved her coat and headed into the cold London night. No cabs were to be seen, and Molly couldn’t possibly stand there and wait. Her heels kept her from running, but she strode in the direction of Baker Street. 

———————-

The short walk gave Molly time to organize her thoughts. She now knew that Sherlock loved her, but she didn’t know what to do with that information— didn’t know what he wanted to do. But she deserved answers, she deserved to look him in the eye and hear it from his own mouth. 

Baker Street came into view. But instead of heading to the door of 221, she remained on the other side of the street, looking for signs of life in flat B. 

There in the glow of firelight was a silhouette she’d never forget. Sherlock was looking right at her, playing his violin. With a long downbow, he seemed to finish, letting his arms hang by his side, still staring at Molly across Baker Street. 

With a quick glance in each direction she crossed the street, thankful for the lack of traffic so late on Christmas Eve. She didn’t knock, just opened the door, knowing instinctively that it would be unlocked. 

Sherlock looked down at her from the top of the stairs. His clothes and hair were more disheveled than normal but his eyes were intense even in his tired face.

Molly closed the door behind her, never looking away from him. She felt oddly calm, as though she was exactly here she was supposed to be. She walked slowly up the stairs, meeting Sherlock on the landing. He hadn’t moved, just watched her with wild-eyes as she approached. 

They were inches away from each other. 

“Invite me in, Sherlock.”

Molly’s voice was a whisper, but her eyes met his with confidence. 

When he gave no indication of moving, Molly reached into her small bag for the notes she’d collected. 

“These say quite a bit, but please, isn’t it time we talked face to face?”

He turned away from her sharply, leaving the door open behind him. Sherlock dropped into his leather chair, eyes on the fire.

Molly wasn’t fooled. She knew he was tracking her movements through his flat and she took her time getting settled, slipping her shoes off near the door. His Stradivarius and bow looked to have been tossed haphazardly on the settee. Molly took that as a further sign of her detective’s agitation. The room was pleasantly warmed from the fire and she walked in his direction as Sherlock turned to look at her. 

Molly seated herself in John’s chair, unbothered by Sherlock's staring. She knew him, knew he was still finding the words he needed. 

But Molly could no longer wait for answers. 

“I’ve missed you, Sherlock.”

His eyes softened, but he remained silent. 

Molly nodded, smiling gently. She tugged the small side table in front of her and placed each note on the table, further smoothing them. She reverently lifted one of the notes, turning it for him to read. 

“You missed me too?”

“Yes.”

His voice was low and rough, and Molly had to suppress a shiver. She moved on to another note. 

“There are a few here that are very complimentary. It seems you like my dress.”

“It’s not the dress, Molly.”

She allowed herself a genuine smile. 

“Thank you. But you felt differently two Christmases ago.”

”No, you have always been beautiful. And I have always been….” He trailed off.

“Mm, dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful,... I don’t remember the rest. It was a good speech, though.”

The look on his face was so fierce in it’s honestly that she was transported back to that night in the morgue before his fall. He turned from the fire, facing her with his entire body. 

“You really do see me, don’t you.”

For the first time in the conversation, her face fell. 

“I thought I did, Sherlock. But then there was the phone call, and I… I always assumed you could see me too. I could live without your love in return, but I thought I would at least be allowed a facade of pride.”

“John explained to you-“

“Yes, but it should have been you,” she bit out sharply. “Our hearts were broken in front of an audience, but you should have come to me. To tell me what happen, and to explain the truth to me.”

“Molly, I’m- I didn’t know where to start. Still don’t.”

She shook her head, allowing the tears to fall. 

“How did you know where I was tonight?”

Sherlock had the decency to look ashamed. “After Sherrinford, I had some of the Irregulars keeping an eye on you, just to be sure that you were truly safe. And I realized that it was the safest way to— be near you without—“ He drew his hand haggardly along his face. “I’m not— this is not my area.”

“So what about this note, then. Is this the truth?” She held up the previously discarded note in a shaking hand so he could read it.

_I meant it_

Sherlock stood, moving toward her slowly. He took the note from her hand, eyes slanting to the scattered papers on the table. Slowly, he reached for another note and handed both to Molly, before seating himself on the floor next to her, his head against the arm of the chair.

“Those, those are both true.”

_I meant it_

_You deserve so much more._

“Is this why you sent John? Because you think you don’t deserve me?”

Her answer was a small, guttural sound from the other side of the armrest. He was keeping his face hidden from her, but Molly felt him shudder when she ran her fingers through his curls. They were as soft as she’d always imagined. 

“Doesn’t matter, Sherlock. I’ve been yours for a long time.”

He was moving his head under her hands, asking for more of her touch. Her fingers explored the curves of his skull, and when she lightly ran her nails over his scalp, his ragged exhalation gave her courage. She tugged gently on his hair, turning his face toward her, as she showed him another note.

_I still love you, ~~do you,~~ could you still—-_

Her hand was still running through Sherlock’s dark hair when he shot up onto his knees. They were face to face, and she watched the light of the fire cast shadows on his pale face.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Molly Hooper.”

“Then love me instead.”

His eyes searched hers for a moment before his lips met hers. Molly felt his large hand cradle her jaw, thumb caressing her cheekbone. Both of her hands were now in his hair, and she pressed him to her more forcefully. She darted her tongue along his full bottom lip, before he opened his mouth to her. She moaned at the taste of him, when he abruptly pulled away, breathing heavily.

Her heart sank for a moment, sure he was regretting the most perfect kiss she’d ever known.

He stood up slowly and Molly watched as he seemed to unfurl to his full height. He held out his hand, helping her up from the padded chair.

“Sherlock?” She stood with him, unsure.

“I thought I was protecting you, I was trying to keep you safe.”

He swept her up in his arms, and Molly clung to him first out of surprise. But the warmth of his solid body spread through her, and she wrapped her arms around his pale neck.

Sherlock nuzzled the top of her head. “I’m yours, Molly. My heart is yours.”

Bells chimed. Christmas Eve had turned to Christmas Day.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock. Now take me to bed.”

——————————————————-

They were never a publicly demonstrative couple, although Mrs. Hudson would remark, with an odd twinkle in her eye, that she could attest to Sherlock and Molly’s very happy and loving relationship.

But every now and then, someone might notice Sherlock smiling at a scrap of note paper before tucking it away into the depths of his Belstaff.

And a privileged few had even caught a glimpse of the messy pile of notes in the drawer of Molly’s otherwise immaculate desk.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Mouse9 for beta reading. :)


End file.
